amuly | Protection

Title: Protection
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Word Count: 4,970
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Written for the 1stclass_kink meme: An AU in which Charles gets hit in the face/has a black eye and everyone automatically assumes that Erik is to blame because Erik is always so angry/irritable. Erik is mortified when he discovers what people are saying/thinking and doesn't realise how angry/irritable he is all the time. Charles is amused because Erik isn't ever angry/irritable with him, its just the rest of the world that pisses Erik off. Would love this to lead to lots of H/C reassurance for Erik and Charles putting people straight followed by yummy sex? Preferably established relationship but not vital! --- Everything except the “AU” part: set during “bromance montage” era.
Warnings: none
A/N: Wooow. I had no idea this fill would end up this long. The prompt wasn't even really any of my super kinks or anything, but I guess the boys wanted to talk or something.

Erik laughed as Charles winced again, pressing his fingertips lightly to his eye. “I just didn't realize it would hurt so damned much!” Charles complained.

Erik just shook his head as he held the door open to the mutant rec room the CIA had given them. “Well that's what you get for calling his powers imbecilic.”

Charles threw himself onto the couch as Erik went over to the wet bar, loading up a towel with ice. “But they were!” Erik chuckled as he returned to Charles, passing him the impromptu icepack. Charles' big blue eyes – rather, one big blue eye, one swollen shut eye – peered up at Erik imploringly as he pressed the icepack to his eye. “You know they were.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Erik glanced casually around the rec room and out the large window into the courtyard. Charles smiled knowingly up at him. “Sean will be here in one minute.”

Leaning forward, Erik pressed a kiss to Charles' uninjured temple. “Too bad.” He pulled away with a grin, wincing as he examined Charles' eye again. “Keep the ice on it,” he ordered, before turning away.

Sure enough, that loud mouth Sean swung the door open before Erik had reached it, bounding in. “Hey guys! Angel said she saw you guys coming back and- whoa! Prof! What happened to your eye?”

Erik growled as he shoved past Sean, doing his best not to turn around and check on Charles again. “You ever heard of minding your own business?” he snarled. Sean's eyes were wide and scared as Erik left the room, but Erik paid him little mind. It was one thing for him to tease Charles about an error in judgement: they were equals. But he wasn't about to let the snot-nosed little brats start on Charles. Not if he could help it.

When Erik entered the cafeteria the next morning, he should have realized something was up. The mutant kids all went abruptly silent, staring at him from their little table like skittish colts. But then again, they seemed to react that way to him a lot, so Erik satisfied himself with narrowing his eyes in their direction and turning to the breakfast buffet.

He knew Charles was behind him even without the little prod in Erik's mind that announced his presence. “How's the eye?” he asked, half-turning to Charles with a smirk.

Charles was grinning at him, own lunch tray clutched between his hands as he settled in behind Erik. “Much better. I think the ice helped.”

Erik shook his head as he turned back to the food. The ice hadn't helped – or if it had, the punch had been a great deal more accurate and powerful than Erik had realized yesterday. Charles' eye was still swollen shut, and the bruise was looking bright purple and red and just generally hideous. Too bad they had yet to find some sort of medic mutant. Not only would one be helpful in the inevitable war that was brewing – whether Charles acknowledged it or not – it'd be nice to have someone on the team that could fix minor mishaps like these.

Charles and Erik sat down at their own, separate table by the cafeteria window, after Charles made a detour to wish the younger mutants a good morning. As Erik slid into his seat and sipped his coffee, he heard Alex ask about the black eye. Charles just laughed ruefully and said he had been stupid, before turning away and joining Erik.

“You shouldn't denigrate yourself in front of the children,” Erik cautioned. “If you ever need them to respect you, to listen to you without question-”

Charles cut Erik off with a wave of his fork. “Like I've said before, my friend: we're not building an army. We're creating a school, of sorts. These are students, not soldiers, and there's nothing I'd be happier to witness than them questioning me at every turn.” Charles helped himself to a mouthful of eggs as he smirked up at Erik.

Sipping at his coffee, Erik just shook his head and glanced out the window. It was a clear day; it'd be a good day for Charles to try and track down more mutants with Cerebro. Charles claimed the weather had no bearing on how far his mind could reach, but Erik couldn't shake the feeling that it had to. Years of adjusting rabbit ears with monsoons raging outside his door had ingrained the idea too deeply in Erik's head to be shaken.

Abruptly Charles' fork clattered to his plate. Erik almost jumped at the noise, turning his gaze from the window to Charles. He looked white – shocked. Immediately Erik went into defensive mode: mentally cataloging all the metal in the room, spoons and forks and knives on their plates rattling dangerously. “Charles!” Erik hissed, reaching across the table to grab his hand. “Charles! What is it? Where is it?”

Charles shook his head, looking like he was sloughing a bad thought from his mind like a dog slough water from his fur. “No,” he said, blinking his one good eye. “No. Sorry. It's not that, it's...”

Erik watched as Charles tilted his gaze to the children's table, eyeing them with a sort of horrified curiosity. Erik could hear them whispering to each other over their breakfasts, but couldn't make out much else. Frowning, he turned to follow Charles' gaze, only to find when he looked directly at the students, they fell deathly silent. Darwin's eyes were flickering between the two of them, or... no, Erik thought. He was specifically looking at Charles' black eye, and then at Erik.

Before Erik could jump to conclusions – and then jump those that appeared to be reaching said conclusions – Charles pushed back from their table. “Erik,” he murmured, pressing an absent hand to Erik's shoulder, “I'll just be a minute.”

Never one to be left out, especially since he could smell a fight brewing a mile off, Erik started to stand up. But then Charles' voice invaded his mind, all polite tenderness and understanding. Please let me sort this. We can talk before this afternoon's session with Cerebro.

Reluctantly, Erik jerked his head in something resembling a nod. Stealing the porcelain coffee mug, Erik stalked past the children's table, ignoring their terrified stares following him out the door.

A miniature metal boat floated in the air in front of Erik's eyes as he patiently manipulated the thin metal. A box full of paperclips had been sacrificed for the construction of the little crew boat, but Erik was pleased with how it was turning out. The little metal oars were all even, in mid-stroke through water which wasn't there. The young metal men sitting inside the boat were meticulously crafted: eyes, ears, nose, even eyebrows all etched in sharp relief. They were hanging on their oars, biceps and backs straining as their feet pushed against the runners in the bottom of the boat. The only thing Erik felt dissatisfied with was the small face of the coxswain, barely visible in his seat low in the boat. But then again, Erik supposed he'd never get that miniature face to express everything he wanted to about the man it was modeled after.

Erik gestured slowly, twisting his hand around in the air beneath the boat. The boat spun with it, like a dozen invisible strings connected his fingertips to the metal. Charles had suggested Erik try working on something that required patience, concentration, and complete and utter calm. He'd never admit it to Charles, but this little project had required a great deal more effort than Erik had originally thought it would.

The door to his room opened almost silently. With his back to it, Erik might not have even know someone had entered. But he could feel the click of the metal tumblers move in the lock, and the handle turn, as someone pushed it open – someone wearing jeans with a metal zip and button, which Erik could feel singing to him even across the room and with his back turned.

Charles moved through Erik's room, the door shutting with a soft click in his wake. He stopped just over Erik's shoulder, standing there quietly as Erik finally let the boat float gently down to the windowsill. It wasn't finished yet, but then again, it might never be.

Taking this as his cue to move forward, Charles brushed his hand over Erik's waist. “It's very lovely.”

Erik leaned back into that hand before turning around, into Charles. “It's not finished yet.”

Charles just nodded, as if he had heard Erik's earlier musings on the piece. Which, Erik supposed, he might have. But then Charles' lips pressed firmly together, and his eyes grew serious. Erik could feel the atmosphere in the room change as surely as he could feel the metal studs in the walls. “I spoke to the children.”

Snorting his disinterest, Erik raised his hand to stroke at the healthy skin surrounding Charles' black eye. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched Charles subconsciously lean into the caress. “So? Something wrong? Something that concerns me?” Erik had meant the last bit to be a joke, but when Charles winced, he took notice. “What?” he asked, more sharply.

Charles walked away from Erik, back toward the entrance of Erik's small, CIA-issued bedroom. Erik followed him, trailing after Charles like a lost puppy. He hated it when Charles made him do that, but he found it happening more and more often these days. Charles might call their time spent together on the road good for him, but Erik knew in the back of his mind that it was just softening him up. He still wasn't about to put a stop to their trips any time soon.

When they had reached Erik's bed Charles sat, legs spread, hands clasped lightly between them. He glanced up at Erik, and there was that wince again, that “I'm sorry to have to tell you this” look. Erik didn't like that look one bit.

“The children...” Charles' hands wrung together, before finally falling open in supplication. “They think you hit me.”

Erik hadn't even registered the nails yanking out of the floorboards before Charles was there, hands gripping at Erik's thighs and rubbing soothing patterns into his skin through his jeans. “My friend, calm down.” Erik's nostrils flared at the thought of anyone thinking he could hurt Charles. How... were they blind? He would never, ever harm Charles. My friend, I would hate for you to damage that beautiful artwork on your windowsill. Please. Calm your mind.

Erik was furious. He didn't want to calm himself. He wanted to twist metal, and throw it, and rip into every one of those little brats who thought he could ever lay a hand on Charles.

The metal frame around the window groaned, shaking twisting and practically screaming, until it collapsed inward. The window broke with a crash, shards of glass skittering across the floor.

Collapsing onto the bed next to Charles, Erik threw a hand over his eyes, willing himself to breathe slowly. Charles' hand was brushing his hip, fingers skittering under his shirt until they met bare skin. Slowly Erik forced his mind to focus on just that: on the feel of Charles' fingers ghosting over his skin, sliding little paths of comfort along his hip and stomach. Soon it was the only thing occupying Erik's mind, and he felt the metal throughout the room sigh back to its natural state.

The bed shifted, so Erik slid his palm off his eyes enough to see Charles craning his neck, looking over at the destroyed window. “Wait here,” Charles ordered, pinching Erik's skin lightly with the command. Erik watched as Charles slid off the bed and over to the window, treading carefully around the broken glass. Plucking a piece of metal up, he returned through the minefield of glass just as carefully, before climbing back onto the bed with Erik.

It was the crew boat – the piece of metal nestled in Charles' palm. As Charles passed it over to Erik, he was amazed to see it was still intact. Running his fingers and mind over it, Erik little himself breathe a sigh of relief. “You moved me away from the window,” he said, not looking up at Charles for a moment. When he did, Charles met the accusation with a wry twist of his lips.

“I thought you might react in such a way. And I didn't want my Christmas present to be ruined.”

Erik's hands instinctively curled around the boat, hiding it from Charles, before he realized the gesture was meaningless. “I hadn't decided on that, yet,” he grumbled.

“You had,” Charles fired back. His eyes were twinkling as he lay down next to Erik, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, foot to foot. “You just hadn't realized you had quite yet.” There was a pause, and then Charles' hand was wrapping casually around Erik's own, squeezing it gently. “I'm afraid I'm not well-versed in the Hanukkah gift-giving tradition? Do I really owe you eight gifts, or-”

“Charles,” Erik gritted out. “Don't.”

A small sigh of understanding escaped Charles' lips before he pressed them tightly together.

“You told them I didn't hurt you, right?”

Charles snorted in a rather undignified manner as the two men stared up at the ceiling, holding hands on Erik's bed. “Of course I did.” Silence fell again, and Erik found himself contemplating the copper wiring in the ceiling. There was a loose staple holding it away from a water line. That would probably cause problems, given a few years' time. “Darwin was especially upset. Something about a baby cousin of his and her brutish boyfriend.”

Erik shifted, frown lines forming between his eyebrows. It still bothered him. It wasn't so much that the children thought he was capable of something like that – G-d knows, he had done worse in his lifetime. The children could think what they wanted to about his moral character, that part certainly wasn't his issue. It was more that anyone in the world thought he could ever lay a finger on Charles in anger, that he would ever-

His thoughts were interrupted by an image flashing through his mind that wasn't his own: himself, fucking Charles open with such tenderness it seemed almost absurd in a man as tall and powerful as him. He let his head roll to the side, finding himself looking into Charles' one black eye, and one blue. “They don't see you the way I do. And,” Charles shifted closer, throwing a thigh and an arm over Erik and pulling them close, until they were sharing breaths, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Charles' lips were on his before Erik could reply – before he could scoff or laugh at the sappy sentiment and ruin the moment. He moaned, moving himself until he was on top of Charles, pinning him to the bed with thighs and lips and hands. Beneath him, Charles was arching up into the kiss: always so eager, so delighted by the way Erik touched him. It was Erik that drew those little happy whimpers from the back of Charles' throat as he thrust his tongue further into Erik's mouth, lips closing and sucking around Erik's as if Charles just wanted to devour him. It was Erik's hand ghosting under Charles' shirt that made him squirm and gasp, arching to the touch like his skin was made of metal and it was just desperate to be in Erik's hands. Erik made Charles come undone like this. And they had thought Erik could hurt Charles.

“Stop thinking about it,” Charles whispered against Erik's jaw. He started to mouth his way down, tilting his head and inching down the bed so he could press his lips to Erik's jaw, then neck, then collarbone. He made a little upset noise as his nose nuzzled at the cloth of Erik's shirt, before Erik was sitting back on his haunches, ripping the offending article of clothing off and throwing it behind him. Charles grinned up at him, eyes – even the bruised one – crinkling with mirth as he watched Erik' tear his shoes and trousers off as well.

“Take off your socks, too,” Charles instructed as he watched. “There's nothing I find quite so ridiculous as a man buggering me in his stocking feet.”

Erik glared at Charles, but did as he was told: tugging his socks off and tossing them to the side, followed by his pants. He hovered above Charles naked, gazing mournfully down at the amount of clothes still covering Charles' body. “Are you planning on participating or...”

Tugging his own shirt over his head Charles laughed. Erik didn't miss the wince that passed over his features when he crinkled his bruised eye a touch too much. “Hey,” Erik murmured. He moved over Charles, thumbing lightly at the skin just on the edges of the bruise. “Careful.” On a whim he leaned down and pressed several whispering kisses to the circumference of the bruising, careful never to exert too much pressure or touch skin that was still too tender. When he pulled away, Charles was smiling softly up at him.

“And that's what they'll never see of you, my friend,” he whispered. His eyes darted across Erik's face, as if reading some hidden depths that Erik wasn't sure he had. “I get to keep these moments all to myself.”

Erik leaned down and captured Charles' lips in a tender kiss in an attempt to silence him. He should have known better.

They might only see the violence and anger in you, Charles' voice whispered feather light in Erik's mind, but I see you for who you are: a caring, brilliant young man. A man I'll move the world with, someday soon.

Erik gasped, breaking the kiss with Charles and burying his face in his neck. “Please,” he whispered into the soft skin there, “don't.”

Charles' hands were warm and soothing on his back, his body pliant and willing beneath his chest. They rocked together, slowly increasing the pace until arousal rose up and drowned out the vulnerability that had filled Erik that day; until Charles was panting and begging beneath him, asking Erik to please, please do more, do everything to him now.

Erik undid Charles' flies with his mind before attempting to tug the trousers off fully in the same manner. It didn't quite work, but Charles was quick to aid Erik in the removal of his trousers and pants, kicking them off to tangle around his ankles.

Erik laughed as he kissed his way down Charles' chest, feeling Charles' feet squirm uselessly behind him. “Now who's the one in stocking feet?”

Propped up on his elbows, Charles huffed a sigh as he smiled down at Erik. With one lazy hand he gestured to his eye. “Could you help relieve me of them? I am injured, you know.”

Grumbling good-naturedly, Erik slid further down Charles' body until he was practically hanging off the edge of his bed, tugging at the mess of trousers and pants and socks all bunched up over Charles' shoes. Finally he managed to throw all the clothes aside, and stopped to gaze upon the fully naked form of Charles Xavier. Charles stared right back at him, his hair flopping in his eyes and mischievous grin making him look so much younger, so much less responsible than the man the young mutants saw every day.

“There's sides to both of us that we only share with each other, you see,” Charles observed. Erik found himself unable to care about the minor invasion of his mind: not when Charles was looking at him like that: all happiness and arousal rolled up in one, sunlight streaming through the window to illuminate his pale English skin.

“Oh.” Erik glanced over at the destroyed window, suddenly remembering it. “Right.” With a wave of his hand Erik moulded whatever spare metal was in the room over the hole in the wall, throwing the room into darkness only punctuated by small slivers of sunlight escaping through cracks in the metal.

Charles laughed as he reached up and tugged Erik down on top of him. “I would have sensed someone coming,” he chided.

Erik punctuated his response with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to Charles' chest. “I would hope,” Charles hummed as Erik pressed a kiss to his collarbone, “that you wouldn't notice,” a careful bite to Charles' nipple had him gasping and running his hands through Erik's hair, “someone coming,” as Erik dipped his tongue into Charles' navel, the other man's chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes glittering in anticipation of what was to come, “while you were doing the same.”

Throwing his hands above his head, Charles' fingers scrambled beneath Erik's pillow for the bottle of KY Jelly they kept tucked away there. Erik sat back, watching the wreck he had turned Charles into with pride. The KY Jelly narrowly missed hitting Erik in the head, but he caught it as Charles slung his legs over Erik's shoulders and shifted his arse closer. “If I say you drive me to such maddening distraction while you're buggering me that your make-shift metal drapery is entirely necessary, would you get on with it?”

Erik grinned almost cruelly as he twisted a lubricated digit up inside of Charles. The young man bucked, hands fisting the bedsheets as he suffered through Erik's always careful preparation. “I'd get on with it anyway,” Erik mused. Charles' body shuddered as Erik pressed a second long digit inside, his hips rolling down against Erik's fingers as he sensually fucked himself on them. Erik was almost jealous of his own fingers. “But I might be cruel and come before you.”

Charles' hand was shaking as he reached up and ran it through his sweat-soaked hair. It caused the brown mop to stick up in all sorts of endearing ways. Erik smiled as he slipped a third finger in, observing how Charles' hair now seemed stuck fast in place, spiked up and wild. “I'm going to be finished long before you are,” Charles groaned, eyes squeezing shut as Erik continued to thrust his fingers in a steady beat, opening Charles up for him. Abruptly Charles' entire body shuddered and Erik yanked his fingers back before freezing. Charles' good eye was lust-blown as he gasped and stared up at Erik. “Especially if you do that. If you want to be in me, I suggest you do it now.”

Erik didn't need telling twice. Pouring some more lubricant on himself – Erik had experienced penetration without lubrication or preparation before in his lifetime, and it wasn't something he ever planned on putting Charles through – Erik adjusted Charles' calves on his shoulders, hauling them both closer together. When he slowly pushed in, Erik's eyes remained trained on Charles' face. The young man was staring at the ceiling, eyes rapturous as he swore under his breath: “Oh, fuck, yes. Sweet merciful... fuck. Oh.”

Fully seated, Erik waited a beat for Charles to adjust. When he looked ready, Erik didn't pull out, but leaned forward instead: kissing Charles languidly and stroking his fingerpads around his injured eye. Charles broke the kiss with a groan, burying his face in Erik's neck. “Move, you great Nordic god, you,” he gripped. He was trying to roll his hips down onto Erik's erection, but it wasn't doing much good with Erik's full length just sitting inside him.

With a chuckle Erik pulled out and thrust back in, waiting for Charles' sharp gasp to cease before repeating the motion. As they found a rhythm, Erik curled a hand around Charles' arse, leaving the other on the outskirts of his black eye. “Nordic god, is it?” he teased.

Beneath him, Charles moaned and bit his neck in reproach. “Like Thor himself,” he groaned.

Erik panted as the pace of his thrusts increased, barely conscious of making the decision to do so. He just knew his body needed more of Charles, to be further inside of him, to feel those tight walls clenching down so hot and slick around him. Sweat was pooling between the two men, chests sliding over each other slicker with every thrust, tongues tasting the extra salt as they lapped and sucked at the other's neck. “Hammer and wrath? Sounds like me,” he finally replied.

“Oafish... ah, f-f- Erik, I...” Whatever witty retort Charles had was lost somewhere between his mind and his mouth, dissolving into a series of gasps and half formed pleas as his legs scrambled around Erik's ears, his body almost bent in two as Erik fucked into him. Sweat dripping into his eyes, Erik adjusted his grip on Charles' arse to haul it higher, closer to him. He groaned as he felt pleasure pooling in his stomach, ready to burst forth like an explosion in an ore mine.

Erik pulled back to watch Charles' face as his breathing grew more desperate, his thrusts down onto Erik more shuddering and discordant. His eyes were closed in rapture, pained line forming between his eyebrows. His cheeks and lips were flushed a brilliant red, and his sweat-soaked hair was starting to flop back down over his forehead from where he had pushed it away earlier.

Erik swore he could sense it the moment before Charles spilled onto his stomach – whether through some telepathic slip, or because he had started to become familiar enough with Charles' body to recognize the signs. As Charles groaned through his completion, he threw a hand back, to the left of his face. Somehow it missed the sheets, and he ended up striking himself on his already black eye. Erik swore as he started to release into Charles, unable to do a thing to stop himself as Charles' body clenched around him, muscles spasming and twitching in all the most exquisite ways.

As soon as Erik regained control of himself he pulled out to tug Charles' hand away from his eye, where he was poking the tender area almost irritably. “Stop it, you fool,” he grumbled, before pressing more tender kisses to the bruised flesh. “It'll never heal, at this rate. The children are really going to think I'm beating you then, no matter how many times you try and explain it to them.”

Charles just laughed, huffing a breath out which fluttered the edges of his wilting hair. “I'd tell them it wasn't you until my voice failed me. And after that, I'd subjugate them to my memories of what actually happened until my mind failed as well.”

Sliding off Charles, Erik lay back against his government issued sheets and stared at the ceiling. Charles was on his chest a moment later, ear pressed somewhere near his heart as they both breathed through their post-coital euphoria. “Hopefully they believed you this afternoon, because your mind failing you is something that I don't think is ever going to happen.”

Charles groaned and grumbled something that sounded ridiculously content and well-fucked, before rubbing the side of his face against Erik's chest like a cat. Erik reached a hand down, mindful of Charles' bruise, and stroked his fingers through wet hair in an attempt to bring it to some semblance of order. A minute later, just as Erik was trying to convince himself he had time to take a nap before both him and Charles were needed at Cerebro (Charles more than him, but Erik was damned if he'd let Charles be continually subjected to that machine alone), Charles spoke again. “It's the opposite, you know: from what the children think.”

Erik frowned, not quite following Charles' train of thought. “What's that?”

Charles' fingers were idly playing with Erik's pubic hair as he spoke. “They think you're bad for me, that you're all anger and irascibility and that it's going to wear off on me.” Charles shifted, turning over on Erik's chest to look at him. Erik let his hand drop from Charles' hair to wrap around his waist as he waited for Charles' ergo. Sure enough, with a smile on his face, Charles continued. “But it's the opposite: you challenge me in ways I never knew I craved, but could never live without now that I've experienced it. Everything you do – even when we're arguing and you're breaking things,” Erik glanced guiltily over at the metal covering the hole in his wall where his window once was, “everything you do just makes me happy.” Sitting up more, Charles stroked a hand over Erik's face as he looked him dead in the eye. Erik mused to himself that the moment might have felt more serious if one of Charles' eyes wasn't swollen shut. “Even when you're bitter, and angry, and cynical: all those moods are just symptoms of an underlying passion that we both share. And that's something that will take the children years to understand – if they ever see it at all.”

Erik's grin was probably too much teeth, but he couldn't help it. “A lack of passion, my friend,” he mused, squeezing Charles close to him with one arm, “will never be the source of our quarrels.”

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Location: Desk
Current Music: True Blood - Season 3

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liveimaginary.livejournal.com

You had me grinning at Nordic god!

Poor Charles. Poor Erik. Utter hilarity, though. I just imagined the kids all... "Daddy hit mommy at the table!"

So well-written and enjoyable to read. Thank you for writing this!

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Sometimes Sexy, Always Slashy

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